


What happens in the limo, ...

by Socksheep



Series: The doctor and the spy [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-02 15:55:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11512635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Socksheep/pseuds/Socksheep
Summary: John is walking home from the clinic one afternoon when Mycroft appears and offers him a lift. Things get a little out of hand.





	1. Eye contact

**Author's Note:**

> Only my second attempt at writing fanfic so please be kind!

The sleek black car pulled up silently next to John as he walked back to Baker Street from the clinic. His day job was reliable, predictable, dull. As Sherlock would say,

"Boring!"

John relished, craved, needed the excitement and chaos that came with living with Sherlock Holmes... Without it he would quickly sink back into the grey featureless morass of existence he'd been drowning in before bumping into Mike Stamford at the park that fateful day. John knew he wouldn't long survive that emptiness again. 

The limo’s rear window slid soundlessly down an inch or so as John hesitated, revealing a piercing blue pair of eyes in the shadowy interior, and a familiar drawling voice saying 

"Do make up your mind Dr Watson, I really don't have all day".

John cursed internally. If Mycroft had shown up to abduct him in person then there was something big happening... Not that he expected to find out what exactly that might be. The Holmes brothers seemed to share a secret delight in keeping him in the dark, either that or they seriously overestimated his ability to deduce what was happening the way they seemed to find so simple. Somehow he doubted the latter. He wasn’t arrogant enough to believe they thought him anything other than average, dull. Why they kept him around, he wasn’t sure. Protection for Sherlock? Surely Mycroft could assign a dozen Government spooks to fulfil that role...? With a heavy sigh, John opened the car door and climbed inside. 

"Well, Mycroft, what is it this time?"

the doctor queried, after a minute or two's uncomfortable (for him) silence. The elder Holmes appeared in contrast perfectly serene as always, cool blue eyes regarding John with an inscrutable expression. John shuddered internally, but tried not to let his discomfort show - really it wasn't much fun being examined so closely by somebody you knew could read your every thought and action as easily as words on a page. He wished Mycroft would just get it over with, whatever it was. Probably yet another attempt to recruit him to spy on Sherlock. For somebody who appeared to have access to the entire CVTV network, Mycroft certainly seemed to feel that there was no such thing as too many eyes observing his brother. 

John shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his cheeks beginning to heat. Mycroft remained silent, his eyes fixed on the doctor's. What was this all about? The look on the Iceman's face was almost... heated... but surely, it couldn't be? Mycroft couldn't be interested in ...him?! A thousand filthy thoughts flashed through John's mind, every secret fantasy he had ever had regarding Mycroft rushing to the front of his brain, clamouring for attention - and the colossal Holmes intellect was reading and cataloguing them all. John squeezed his eyes shut, letting his head fall back against the opulent headrest - how the hell was he supposed to escape this humiliation? Maybe the ground would kindly open up and swallow him whole? Perhaps Mycroft would be so disgusted he would simply make John disappear - surely that umbrella held a secret weapon of some sort? Gun, blade, poison dart? He would happily die now and avoid the humiliation of ever opening his eyes again. 

A soft thud in front of him... This was it, then. John wondered what Sherlock would be told when he never came home? He couldn’t imagine it would be the truth, but was Mycroft really capable of a cover-up good enough to fool Sherlock Holmes? John was almost sorry he wouldn't be around to find out. He took a last deep breath, letting it out slowly and trying to relax. He hoped Mycroft would be kind and make it swift and relatively painless.   
The last rush of breath gone, he waited. And waited. Any moment now... 

 

After what felt like an eternity, Johns lungs took the decision out of his hands and forced him to draw a deep, shuddering breath. What was Mycroft waiting for? The doctor's eyes flickered, then slammed open - of all the sights in the world, he never in his life would have thought to see Mycroft Holmes, the Iceman himself, on his knees at his feet, eyes burning into John's with a fervour that took his breath away once more. Holding his gaze, the politician's long elegant fingers glided up John's legs and came to rest either side of his groin. All the blood in the Doctor’s face seemed to rush South in an instant and he shivered as his cock strained against his trousers, fully erect in seconds at the mere hint of being touched by the gorgeous man now on his knees before him. Mycroft’s left eyebrow raised in silent query, his gaze never leaving John’s. The doctor swallowed, what felt like a huge lump in his throat, his mouth dry, and nodded, hardly daring to breathe. 

 

A billion thoughts seemed to rush through John’s mind the instant Mycroft’s fingers moved to unbutton his trousers and slowly lower the zip... was he dreaming? Hallucinating? Drugged? Insane? What on earth was really going on because this couldn’t, simply couldn’t be real... could it? There was simply no way in Hell that he, Captain John Watson, former Army Doctor, skint locum GP, a slightly scruffy, below-average height middle-aged man, scarred and warped by his years in battle and who couldn’t even afford a flat of his own to live in could possibly be sitting in an opulent limo with probably the most powerful man in the country on his knees before him, easing down his tight red briefs (and didn’t they cause a slight flicker in the Iceman’s smooth unruffled façade?) and freeing his hard, red, throbbing cock. His breath came in rough gasps as Mycroft finally broke eye contact, leaning elegantly forwards and swallowing him down to the root.


	2. Sensory overload

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The good stuff.

"Fuck!"

The obscenity escaped his lips without conscious thought, the heavenly sensations running through his privates rendering him incapable of controlling his mouth. Soft, gentle licking interspersed with firm, long sucks, drawing right from the base of his rock-hard member to the tip. An extremely talented tongue flicking delicately over his slit, the wet heat retreated only to return lower, sucking his balls into that gorgeous mouth, rolling them one at a time on that tongue. Long, strong fingers clamped tightly around his upper thighs, squeezing and caressing, thumbs rubbing small circles into his flesh. John had lost all ability to process thought, simply drowning in sensation as the elder Holmes brother fellated him expertly, kneeling on the thick plush carpet in the back of one of his ubiquitous black cars. Just the thought that it was Mycroft, the Iceman, the cool, unruffled elder Holmes who never showed a hint of emotion save from slight distaste made this whole experience so much hotter. The dark glass partition was in place, So John couldn't see the driver and assumed that he couldn't hear them but he still wondered if the man knew what was happening in the back of his car. The thought that they could be caught so easily sent an extra frisson of desire down the doctor's spine. Maybe he had an exhibitionist streak he never knew about?

The British Government glanced up at him, then did something with his tongue that made the army doctor throw his head back and howl as he came, hips trying to thrust forward into that wet heat but held back by those strong, elegant pale hands. His vision whited out for a moment and he panted roughly, his heart hammering in his chest as he rode the endorphins high and slowly drifted back to himself.

When he raised his head, Mycroft was back in his seat, looking as neat and unruffled as ever, no hint anywhere in his appearance that he had just done something so debauched. John gaped at him - how was it possible to look so prim and proper after giving a blow job like that? A tiny smirk at the corner of his lips was the only hint at anything out of character as Mycroft rapped on the glass with his umbrella handle and the car pulled smoothly to the curb. Flustered, John put himself away and tried to straighten his clothes before the driver opened the door and he stumbled out on autopilot, not knowing what to say or do. It turned out that nothing was expected of him as the door was shut and the driver disappeared inside the car again, pulling smoothly back out into traffic and leaving John baffled on the pavement. As he watched the black car slide away into the distance he heard a 'ping' and his phone buzzed in his pocket. Shaking himself out of his frozen state, he pulled out the phone and glanced at the screen. 

'Until next time, Dr Watson. MH'


	3. Medical malpractice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft requires a prostate exam. There's only one Doctor he wishes to perform it.

A week went past, then another. John was beginning to think he must have dreamed the entire episode. At first his only thought had been how to keep what had happened from Sherlock, who had thankfully been off dissecting corpses with Molly at Bart's when John had stumbled up the stairs, disheveled, reeling from what had undoubtedly been the best blow job of his life and above all, the fact that it had been delivered by Mycroft Fucking Holmes! Sherlock fortuitously hadn't returned until the small hours of the morning when John had been asleep, then had been immobile on the couch in his 'mind palace' pose when his flatmate had departed for work the following morning and so had failed to notice anything amiss. After that they had been launched into a series of cases, murder, theft, forgery and now after two weeks had passed John had stopped panicking that Sherlock was somehow going to deduce what John had done (well really, what Mycroft had done - John had been so stunned he had barely managed to form a coherent thought at the time, let alone meaningful actions). Now, the doctor was left in a strange limbo, not knowing whether the experience had been a one-off, viewed as positive or negative by the elder Holmes or even if it had actually happened at all... he had re-read the text from Mycroft so often and analysed it so much he no longer knew what meaning to give it. And he hadn't seen or heard from the man himself to be able to try to determine his thoughts on the matter. Not that John was brave or indeed suicidal enough to march up to the british government and demand to know his intentions, but he was pretty sure he'd be able to at least determine whether it had really happened or not. What if it had just been a fantasy? John had to admit it wouldn't have been the first time he had thought of the impeccably-suited man in a less-than-appropriate manner, but this incident hadn't exactly been his usual wank fodder... he hadn't peeled that ridiculously expensive suit off him a piece at a time, as he usually fantasised doing... removing the Iceman's armour and revealing that long, pale body and all the mysteries it held. John would kill to know if Mycroft had freckles... his hair clearly had an auburn tint and the army doctor had often wondered whether it was strategically darkened just a few shades to a more sober shade than the fiery redhead he thought Mycroft might perhaps be underneath. No, the scenario occupying his thoughts was far more... Mycroft than any of his fantasies. If the man were to indulge, how typical that he would remain fully clothed, unruffled and utterly in control. The mere thought of it sent shivers of lust running straight to John's groin. 

Now, however, was emphatically NOT the time to be indulging in sordid fantasies - his shift at the clinic was nearly over, his final patient running a minute or two late. He should be taking the time to catch up on paperwork, not getting lost in own imagination. A quiet cough outside his office brought him crashing back into the present as he registered a gentle tap at the door. Wait, he hadn't buzzed for his patient yet - they hadn't arrived, weren't marked in as present on the system. Perhaps it was a nurse with a question? 

"Come in,"

he called clearly, and the door swung open to reveal none other than the object of all his distracted thoughts - Mycroft Holmes in the flesh. And staring into his eyes with the same heated expression he'd had in the back of the limo 2 weeks before. So it hadn't been a dream! John felt his cheeks heating as Mycroft undoubtedly read his every thought in his face, and the elder Holmes stepped forward into the room, clicking the door softly closed behind him, and sliding the privacy bolt home. The doctor swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. 

"Mycroft? To what do I owe the pleasure? Surely you aren't my 6.30 appointment? I'd have thought you had your own man in Harley Street!" 

John blustered, attempting to cut through the tension in the room with humour. Mycroft's face, however, didn't show so much as a flicker of a smile. He stepped forwards until he was rather too close, invading John's personal space entirely as he leaned forward and purred, in that deep, rich voice

"I'm so sorry to impose, Dr Watson, but I find myself in need of a prostate examination and there simply isn't anyone else I'd trust with so delicate a matter."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John abandons all hope and enters there.

At least 30 seconds must have passed before John's brain processed the words his ears had just heard - 30 seconds in which he stood, a blank look on his face, undoubtedly confirming all of Mycroft's previous assumptions about what an idiot he was. A prostate exam. Right. Mycroft Holmes was asking him to perform a prostate exam. Except that he wasn't, was he? That's totally NOT how you ask your doctor for a prostate exam. Particularly if said doctor is a personal acquaintance of yours. Especially if he happens to live with your insanely observant brother. If you also happen to have wantonly fellated said doctor in the back of a limo a week or two ago then it really isn't a prostate exam you're asking for, is it? Not in that breathy, I-must-have-you-now voice. Not from 6 inches away. 

Having worked through this train of thought and come to the conclusion that Mycroft was asking to be sexually penetrated, John's brain was still seriously struggling to reconcile the idea that this was Mycroft. Asking him. Him. John Watson. Nope, still makes no sense. Only one thing to do: go for it, you'll likely never get this sort of opportunity again and it'll probably even be worth being exiled to Antarctica or whatever fate the elder Holmes usually inflicted on his unsatisfactory lovers. Decision made, the doctor shook his head slightly to try and regain the power of speech and cleared his throat.

"OK Mr Holmes, it's advisable to have regular checkups at your age. When was your last exam?"

Mycroft looked slightly surprised, if any reaction could be read on that perfect impassive mask, but John had decided to stick to the script. If Mycroft had gone to the trouble of ambushing him in his office for this, he presumably wanted medical role-play. He tried to put the idea of Mycroft wanting to play Doctors and Nurses out of his head. If that stray thought got noticed, he'd better start packing his thermals. 

"A few years ago now, Doctor. Perhaps as many as five years?"

Impossible that Mycroft would not know exactly how long to the day and probably hour - he was just as obsessive with accuracy as Sherlock. Clearly playing along with the fantasy. John allowed himself to relax a tiny amount - so they were really doing this, then. Blimey. 

"Well I'm sure you remember the procedure from last time Mr Holmes, if you'd just like to remove your trousers and underwear, and lean over the couch for me".

John turned away to get a package of medical-grade lubricant from a drawer in the corner of the room, and snapped on some gloves. He turned back to find Mycroft watching him, pupils blown wide and dark, mouth ever so slightly open. Clearly this turned the other man on, big time. John felt himself grow a little more confident - and a little more interested. His cock gave a twitch in his pants and he had to resist the urge to adjust it - got to stay in character, stay professional. Don't ruin the atmosphere, Watson. You can do this. Mycroft kept eye contact as he began to slowly undo his trousers - button, zip, inner button, then slid them down his legs. He must have already removed his shoes and socks, John realised now, watching him step out of the no doubt insanely expensive material, fold it, and lay it on the bed next to him. He was left standing in navy silk boxers which did little to conceal how aroused he was. Just as John was salivating at the thought of seeing his 'patient's' cock, the other man turned away top face the bed. Removing his boxers in this position left John with a tantalising glimpse of creamy white arse, peeking out from under the man's shirttails. Mycroft bent at the waist, leaning over the bed and resting on his elbows. He looked back over his shoulder at John. The clear message was 'your move'. 

Taking a deep breath, John stepped forward, applying lube to his fingers and slipping into the same familiar spiel he always used to make patients feel at ease during this procedure. It appeared that his mouth could continue delivering the right lines when his brain was short-circuiting, thinking only 'Holy fuck. What on earth am I doing here?'.

He placed his right hand soothingly on Mycroft's lower back, allowing the fingers of his left to slide down the cleft of Mycroft's gorgeous arse and come to rest over his tightly furled pink entrance. Another breath. As his mouth was tripping merrily along describing the procedure, John slowly pushed one digit forwards and breached the sphincter. Mycroft let out a small huff of breath but gave no other sign of discomfort. Continuing with his speech 

"...might feel a slight burning sensation, bear down a little, that will help, good... now I need to insert a second finger to reach the prostate Mr Holmes, you're doing very well, try to relax for me... you may feel a sudden intense feeling when I press just... here"

A sharp, cut-off cry tore out of Mycroft's throat. Not loud, and not a noise of pain, he sounded like he had momentarily been overwhelmed and lost control. John wondered at this point how Mycroft wanted the rest of this situation to play out. Normally he would now report that the prostate felt perfectly normal (it did), remove his fingers gently and allow the patient to get dressed while he cleaned up. However, at the same time as uttering that noise, Mycroft 's arse had clamped down around John's fingers and showed no signs of letting go. John couldn't remove his fingers without hurting the man. 

"Are you ok Mr Holmes?" he asked, needing some clue as to what he should do next. Nothing in his wildest dreams could have prepared him for the next words to come from his 'patient':

"Thank you doctor, I am afraid I am experiencing some cramps - perhaps you could perform digital rectal massage to help the area to relax?"

Bingo. John had a feeling there was more to this than a simple doctor's office role-play. Mycroft wanted to get more out of him. John was more than happy to play along. 

"Alright Mr Holmes... does this appear to be helping? "

"I'm afraid not Doctor... could you perhaps go a little deeper? And maybe add another finger?"

"Like this?" 

John asked, breath catching as he saw Mycroft begin to rock gently back onto his fingers as he thrust them gently in and out. Fuck, that was hot. The British Government was fucking himself on John's fingers. The doctor knew what he really wanted, however... but he was going to have to ask for it. He continued thrusting his fingers in and out, twisting, brushing against Mycroft's prostate every few thrusts, slowly working him open while not allowing him release. He could feel the body in front of him begin to grow tense with anticipation... see beads of sweat forming at Mycroft's temples. A little more... a few firmer strokes of the spongy gland inside and Mycroft let out a whimper. Yes! Any moment...

"How does that feel now Mr Holmes? Better?"

A strangled sob was his only reply, so John stopped. He removed his fingers - another sob - and asked again:

"Mycroft? How do you feel? Do you want me to continue?" 

By now the usually prim and proper, perfectly-put-together man in front of him was reduced to a writhing, sweaty, desperate mess. Gone were all traces of the Iceman and John felt a surge of pride and desire... he had done that. Reduced Mycroft fucking Holmes to a quivering wreck. Not bad for a forty-something invalided army doctor. Still got what it takes. 

"John.... please..."

"What Mycroft? What do you need?"

"Fuck me... please"

The desperate plea was accompanied by another sob as John ran his fingers around Mycroft's stretched and puffy rim, dipping them just inside and then removing them again. He fumbled in his desk drawer for a condom (thanks to whoever had been using this office as a family planning clinic last week), and tore open the packet with his teeth, sliding it on with the practiced air befitting a man with the nickname 'Three Continents Watson'. 

"Okay"

he replied as he lined up the head of his cock with Mycroft's well-prepared hole and sank inside.


	5. Everything seems to be in order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naughty Doctor Watson.

A deep, heartfelt groan rumbled through both men at once as the doctor sank deep inside Mycroft's tight, hot hole. John paused for a few breaths to allow them both to adjust, then began a slow, steady rhythm, pulling out halfway before sliding home. Smooth, unhurried, and guaranteed to drive the other man wild with impatience. Sure enough, after a minute or so the immaculately-dressed (well, half-dressed) man beneath him began to rock backwards with each thrust, trying to get more, harder, deeper. John was having none of that. Time to remind Mycroft that he was not only a doctor but Captain Watson as well... Tightening his fingers around the slender hips in front of him, he locked his arms and prevented all movement while pulling all the way out and waiting. A high-pitched whine emanated from his patient - a sound he never would have thought to hear from Mycroft Holmes. He waited. 

" Please..." 

The man breathed, sounding utterly wrecked.

"Please... John..."

John put on his best Captain voice - hard, cutting. Brooking absolutely no argument. Not loud - it didn't have to be. Just utterly certain that his commands would be obeyed. 

"I don't think so, soldier. Are you forgetting who's in charge here?"

Mycroft shuddered and let out a sob. Interesting, thought the Captain... maybe a military kink here as well as a medical one... how best to exploit that to his advantage?

"I'm waiting for your answer, soldier. Who is in charge?"

"You are, sir. Captain" A breathless moan.

"And just what exactly are you trying to do then, soldier? Tell me!"

"Want you to fuck me harder, sir. Please, Captain"

"Good lad"

And with that John snapped his hips forward, impaling the gasping man beneath him in one swift stroke. He changed his angle and drove upwards, pounding hard into Mycroft's prostate, making him wail and cry out with abandon. John hoped like hell the rest of the staff had all left by now - he'd be losing his licence otherwise. Screwing your patients was fairly obviously not OK. Right now, though, it felt like it might be worth it. He plunged again and again into the tight wet heat, chasing his orgasm, feeling the gathering tingle in his balls grow stronger and stronger until it ripped through him, making him shout out loud as he thrust deep one final time and emptied himself into the willing body in front of him. 

As he panted, trying to get his breath back and blinked; trying to clear his vision, which had whited out for a moment, the doctor became aware that the man in front of him had slumped forwards onto his own arms, limp and sated. As he carefully pulled out he saw the couch was streaked with Mycroft's ejaculate - he felt a quick rush of relief - he had completely lost track of Mycroft's pleasure while chasing his own. Looks like he hadn't failed him, however. In fact, he'd better get the man up off the couch before he collapsed further into it, ruining a suit that undoubtedly cost more than John earned in three months. 

"Mycroft?" 

He asked, tentatively resting his clean hand on his back. The man moaned but made no attempt to move. 

"Mycroft? Might want to get up, you don't want to get... messy"

"Of course. If you would excuse me a moment, Doctor?"

John blinked, taken aback. Did Mycroft seriously want him to leave? Wait outside the curtain? Was he going to try to pretend that the last 30 minutes had never happened? What the fuck should he do now?

"Um... are you asking me to get out?"

"If you wouldn't mind giving me a little privacy, yes please, Doctor Watson"

Blimey - the man was utterly shagged-out, bent over a couch with John's spunk dripping out of him and he'd gone right back to sounding aloof and superior. How the hell did he do that? Shaking his head, John stepped back and closed the curtain. It was minimal privacy since he could still hear everything happening just three feet away from him and he could see Mycroft's feet as the curtain didn't quite reach the floor, but he was willing to let Mycroft have this small breathing space if he needed it. He was not, however, going to let the man escape without a word, like he had last time, and spend the next fortnight wondering if this had been reality or a very realistic fantasy... they needed to talk. Just what was this, anyway? Did Mycroft want something long-term, or just a quick release? What did John himself want? And how the hell was he supposed to hide this from Sherlock? 

"Oh, fuck..." he breathed, the image of his enraged flatmate looming in his mind. This was going to be so very awkward...

The curtain was drawn back with a sharp rattling of its rings on the pole and John snapped out of it. Mycroft, impeccably dressed as before without a single wrinkle to his clothes (and how does he DO that? John wondered... Does he have a travel iron stuffed in a pocket somewhere?) stepped forwards and, avoiding direct eye contact, murmured as he stepped towards the door,

"Thank you Doctor, I feel much better". 

"Oh no you don't, Mycroft Holmes! You are not escaping that easily. Sit down and tell me what the hell this is supposed to be. Not that I'm not appreciative of the... uh... attention, but I'd like to know what the hell is going on. Preferably before I have to go home and face your brother". 

Mycroft halted instantly when he spoke, a look of slight shock momentarily passing across his face before recovering his usual impassive mask. He sat down gracefully in the chair the doctor had indicated and sighed. 

"I was hoping to avoid any... awkward discussions'"

"Yes, well sorry but I need to know where i stand. Was this just a one-off thing or are you looking for a more regular... arrangement? Hell, are you interested in ME at all, or were you just horny as hell and thought I'd do?"

Mycroft blushed a delicate shade of pink and hastened to respond.

"Please, Doctor Watson, no, never think that I might regard you as anything so crude as.... I am sorry. I find it very hard to discuss this sort of thing openly. I have had very few romantic entanglements over the years, they have usually proven to be more trouble than they are worth but ever since our very first meeting I have found you somewhat... compelling".

"Our first meeting? You mean when you kidnapped me and threatened me in an abandoned warehouse?"

"Standard practice for any new acquaintance of my brother's, I assure you. It usually serves to terrify and repel those who would do him harm... You, however... You were magnificent. You weren't remotely intimidated... you were quite... sassy. It certainly piqued my interest. I have been watching you closely ever since".

"I really hope that when you say 'watching me closely' you don't have a camera in my bedroom?"

"Of course not, dear Doctor, that would be an unconscionable intrusion... just the living room, kitchen, hallway and stairs".

John sighed and shut his eyes a moment. He opened them again to find Mycroft looking a little sheepish.

"If you wish, I will have them all removed immediately", 

he offered in a small voice. John thought for a moment. He was a little surprised by the offer.

"No, leave them. Those are relatively public spaces after all and with Sherlock's experiments and the odd criminal mastermind inviting himself round for tea, a record of what exactly was going on in the flat might be useful, if only at a post-mortem." 

A slight flicker of a smile pulled at Mycroft's lip. John cocked his head to one side and regarded him candidly. 

"So where do you want this to go, Mycroft? I think it's pretty obvious by now that I find you quite appealing. What do you want from me?"


	6. Never negotiate with a Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft lays down his terms.

" I desire...you."

Following a pause of about a minute, Mycroft's brief statement was accompanied by a look so smouldering that John's pants might just have spontaneously combusted, had he not just enjoyed such a spectacular release. The doctor raised his eyebrows and twitched his head to the left in a gesture that encouraged the politician to elaborate. 

"Go on..."

"Really, it is very straightforward. I desire no less than every single inch of you. i would like to kidnap you and take you to a secret location where I might be free to consume every piece of you. You seem remarkably attuned to my desires... you seemed to know instantly how... invigorating I find your being both a doctor and a soldier. Usually I am a lot harder to read, clearly lust has broken down my defenses. You look alarmed, Doctor Watson, do not fear, I have no intention of abducting you and spiriting you away, as amusing as it might be to find out whether my brother could track you down or not. I was simply making the point that I desire anything and everything that you may wish to offer me. I am yours for the taking". Despite trying to retain his usual calm, Mycroft's ears were definitely turning a little pink by the end of this speech.

John discovered that he had been holding his breath for a minute or so and huffed it out, breathing in deeply as his mind reeled with what he was being offered. Mycroft Holmes on a plate? Yes please... A very vivid image of just that flicked into his mind and he had to smile, Mycroft reclining on a bed of lettuce drizzled with vinaigrette... he mentally shook himself, clearly he was feeling a little light-headed. 

"Blimey Mycroft. Um, I don't know what to say. Clearly I find you very attractive, though I'm astounded you're interested in me... I'm still not quite clear what you're proposing, though. Do you want just sex, or do you want to... date?" 

The elder Holmes blinked, looking utterly taken aback. "You would...consider that?"

"Of course I would! Bloody hell I don't want to just treat you like a sex object, I'd quite like to get to know you as a person. The Mycroft Homes beneath the suit. Sorry, not the best phrasing, I mean... what you're like when you're not working. What you're like at home".

"I fear you might find that there is no such creature - i am very rarely able to put work entirely aside. The façade I maintain in public has been in place so long I am no longer sure I remember what is underneath. But... I would like to try. With you."

Mycroft's cheeks had now taken on a faint tinge of pink also and his ears were a considerably darker shade. How adorable! John thought. One sight he never ever thought to see in all his days was Mycroft Holmes blushing. It was so adorable that he could not help reaching out toward the taller man, hesitantly - it felt strange, they had been shagging wildly a few scant minutes ago but then switched back to this almost formal atmosphere and he didn't know how his overtures would be received. Mycroft didn't seem like a terribly tactile man, but John was hoping that he'd thaw out a little - he couldn't envisage a relationship without hugs. 

Mycroft saw the doctor's arms awkwardly half-extended towards him and considered for a moment before stepping forward into his embrace, allowing himself to let out a long-held breath and drop his forehead slowly onto the shorter man's shoulder. As John's arms tightened around him he felt his own come up and encircle the other man's waist. His eyes slid shut and he just breathed deeply for a few breaths, drinking in the unfamiliar sensation of being safe, cocooned in another man's arms. He had not felt anything like this since he had been a small child, wrapped in his father's arms after falling and scraping his knee. It was bliss. 

"I... fear I am going to get a lot of this wrong. I have no experience..." he let his voice drift off as John's strong arms squeezed him a little tighter. 

"That's ok. Neither do I. We'll figure it out together" said his doctor, kissing him gently on the cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it appears a bit of plot snuck in at the end there... that wasn't at all where I thought this was going but these characters have minds of their own. I think this section is done now, but I might add a second part with further adventures of the bedroom (or limo) variety. Thanks for reading, and huge thanks for the kudos and comments - I'm so thrilled you enjoyed it!


End file.
